


Cashmere

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Kaoru has impeccable taste and a raging crush to go with it, M/M, requited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8347528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: Kaoru finds it difficult to focus on his doe-eyed tasks at hand, what with Kyoya wearing his gloves and all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> This is just an impromptu piece of fluff, and I love it so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The world runs grey overhead, contradicting the unseasonal warmth of the autumn air. Any other day, and it’d be enough to leave Kaoru feeling robbed; being made to go without that lung-tickling chill that always seems to properly align his senses.

Instead, Kaoru’s left reeling for newer, more stimulating reasons as he evokes the foreign brush of fingers against his skin just one night ago. It’d been mere seconds, but the whole thing had ended with frustrated laughter and fragile, near-confessions threatening to roll off his tongue.

Now, a cool breeze blows through Kaoru’s bedroom window, catching him off guard as it contrasts against the still too-warm air that surrounds him now.

_What is this excuse of an October?_

No matter. Gathering his bearings, Kaoru looks toward the wardrobe for prospective accessories before heading out for the day. Though it’s colder than previous weeks, he’s unable to will Mother Nature into providing just the right beloved fall aesthetic.

It’s a moot point, however. There’s no point in looking for distraction in the same place that’s landed his heart and mind in their quiet little mess, in the first place.

Picking up a pair of gloves, he turns them over against an open palm. They’re Kaoru’s favorite--the broken in, cognac lambskin reminding him of an elegance that went out during another century, while their wool and cashmere lining warm seamlessly to his own hands. The leather folds languidly as the gloves pass between wanting fingers, and Kaoru can’t help but wish to see Kyoya wearing them once again, as he had the evening before.

Kyoya’s fingers, he’d noticed, were uncharacteristically white; the discoloration running mid-knuckle while he wrote fastidiously in that black notebook of his. Almost immediately Kaoru had called to mind a previous mention of an occasional constriction of small arteries that left the extremities especially cold.

Then, the following moment wherein Tamaki had mothered his best friend into remembering that the condition is also stress-induced, only to have Kyoya wave him away with the counterpoint that the issue is overall harmless.

“Senpai, how hard are you gripping that pen?” he’d asked.

“Not very,” came Kyoya’s half-distracted reply. “Why?”

 _Figures_. Kaoru had smiled, not quite certain how to go about his desired gesture, only to end up draping the gloves across Kyoya’s notebook before stepping away.

“Here. You’re cold.”

The gesture had been kind, no two ways about it, though this information did little to mask the subtle shock across Kyoya’s face.

“It’s fine.” He’d replied, albeit with gratitude while attempting to give the gloves back. “I’m used to it.”

“You’re used to it.” Kaoru repeated, “But are you comfortable?”

The conversation had paused for a beat, giving Kyoya time to consider the idea, though Kaoru decided to cut that introspection off and to speak up once again.

“Wear them.” He’d insisted. “They’re Ines. Functional couture that I promise you can write just fine in. I use these while sketching in winter all the time.”

Arm still extended, Kyoya had been slow to withdraw, though he’d eventually tucked the notebook against his side while slipping into the admittedly handsome accessory.

“Alright then.”

Kaoru had watched with a sense of satisfaction as the leather conformed to the shape of Kyoya’s longer, slender hands. Only privately was he willing to admit that he’d already realized the gloves would fit his senpai’s hands different from his own.

Having stretched and tested the luxurious fabric, for a second Kyoya’s mouth granted a pleased smile he’d no qualms sharing with Kaoru. For the warmth of the gloves as much as the gesture, and perhaps, Kaoru is too cautious to hope, for something a little bit more.

“Much obliged, Kaoru.”

Offering a slightly restrained nod, Kaoru had pivoted on one heel in the direction of the afternoon’s Host Club clients.  After all, there could be no sense in relishing in the niceties of a make-believe moment.

Announcing himself with a calculated blend of obnoxiousness and charm, he’d greeted his designated group of girls with that trademark, Cheshire Host grin pasted wide across his face. Content to listen to whatever banter they chose to engage in, the lot of them strolled Ouran’s courtyards on what Kaoru had decided was turning into a rather fine day.

It isn’t beyond anyone, really, to wonder over the contents of Kyoya’s Black Notebook. It’s most likely full of names, ledgers and plans, he’d heard several girls say.

Kaoru is inclined to disagree.

He’s been blessed by more than enough opportunity to study that slight tilt of the head Kyoya is wont to do as he writes.

He’s had enough time to discern the variance between a quick scribble, as opposed to the deliberate strike of a pen from porcelain wrists.

Between all this and Kyoya’s easy penchant for very specific language, Kaoru can’t help but imagine his senpai to be a secret poet. A private versifier of emotions. Admittedly, his phrasing is a bit grandiose for most people’s tastes, but it adds a touch of romance that Kaoru can’t help but enjoy.

It’s a daydream that occasionally helps him fall asleep at night.

Eventually, the sun had drawn down upon the lot of them; the girls having shifted discussion from infamous notebooks to whether or not the season’s delayed chill is truly preferable to fur muffs and excuses to hold hands. They’d looked to Kaoru, who in light of recent occurrences was unable to provide one of his typically smooth answers.

It’d taken a pile of leaves atop his head, courtesy of one very observant brother, to ground him back within reality. The gentle, knowing squeeze to one shoulder had been the only thing separating Hikaru from Kaoru’s half-playful wrath, who then seized the moment to lean intimately into his twin’s side.

Eyeing their clients with a flirtatious simper, Hikaru whispered to his beloved brother that he’d do well to remain careful, lest anyone else realize he’s got it _this_ bad.

Message received.

The idea of having been found out is a sobering one, enough so that Kaoru had chosen to play off Hikaru’s antics for the remainder of the night. Relying on years-old routines of entertainment, Kaoru granted himself the opportunity succumb to the now underlying comfort that comes standard with being a twin.

If only for a little while.

In his bedroom, that chilled breeze cuts through the balmy air and Kaoru swears he can smell autumn finally starting to come into its own. The lambskin lays warm and rested in his hand, and transports his heart to the moment they’d been returned.

To his own surprise, Kaoru’s only thought is the way in which gratitude is wholeheartedly beautiful on Kyoya.

In one seamless movement Kyoya had slipped the gloves from his own hands to neatly tuck them into Kaoru’s own, lingering long enough to raise questions and nerves to the core of Kaoru’s entire being. There is no way he’ll forget this new and singular feeling.

It’s decided, then.

Sifting through several drawers, Kaoru finally withdraws a burgundy and sienna scarf whose comfort aligns with the Ines, perfectly. He stares at his reflection, not bothering to suppress a smile while wrapping the scarf carefully around his neck. The hues are a deliberate compliment to his own skin tone and hair color, though this matters little as Kaoru does not intend to wear it for very long.

Content with his selections, Kaoru pockets the gloves and shoulders his school bag, one thought prominent among the rest as he steps through the door.

Kyoya’s touch is without a doubt, gentler than the finest cashmere.


End file.
